Note about this piece: I was raised a Christian Scientist. When I was in 8th grade family moved to a remote rural farmhouse where as a shy high school student I began writing letters as a way to maintain contact with people. I also read a great deal to imagine other places and other ways of experiencing the world. Knowledge and understanding grow and accumulate in varied and sometimes unpredictable ways.

Since i started gardening about 16 years ago I have realized that my garden has become my creative space for several months of the year. My studio work happens primarily in the cooler months when the garden sleeps. They feed, balance and compete a bit with one another...like perennials.

I have long felt connection to the nautilus shell structure and have used it in my work for years. I found this dictionary illustration that called it an umbilicus. The honeycomb pattern around it came from pages of linoleum sample books that I discovered nailed up as insullation when I did demolition for a project on the attic wall of our 100 year old house.

Umbilicus (side angle view)

at Woodland Pattern Book Center

Umbillicus (detail)

Two Jacks occupy the lower chamber separated from each other by a piece of "furniture" (the wood pieces used to lock in lead type in typesetting/printing). I frequently use toy and game parts in my work...perhaps as a metaphor for a childlike spirit, the light of which still flickers inside us as we go through our adult lives or perhaps because of the memories that they elicit.

Calliope was the goddess associated with poetry. It is also the name of a type of humming bird. I love both poetry and hummingbirds and was delighted to find this entry and engraving on a dictionary page connecting the two. A hummingbird sighting in my garden fills me with wonder.

This piece was made in response to an invitation by artist Chris Hewitt and Gallery 224 to create a piece about the Bachmann's Warbler, a bird that has not been seen since the late 1980s and is presumed extinct due to loss of migratory habitat. I researched the lost bird, listened to recordings of its song and felt a mourning for its loss. The text is from an Emily Dickinson poem that I know and love.

Note about this piece: I was raised a Christian Scientist. When I was in 8th grade family moved to a remote rural farmhouse where as a shy high school student I began writing letters as a way to maintain contact with people. I also read a great deal to imagine other places and other ways of experiencing the world. Knowledge and understanding grow and accumulate in varied and sometimes unpredictable ways.

Since i started gardening about 16 years ago I have realized that my garden has become my creative space for several months of the year. My studio work happens primarily in the cooler months when the garden sleeps. They feed, balance and compete a bit with one another...like perennials.

I have long felt connection to the nautilus shell structure and have used it in my work for years. I found this dictionary illustration that called it an umbilicus. The honeycomb pattern around it came from pages of linoleum sample books that I discovered nailed up as insullation when I did demolition for a project on the attic wall of our 100 year old house.

Umbilicus (side angle view)

at Woodland Pattern Book Center

Umbillicus (detail)

Two Jacks occupy the lower chamber separated from each other by a piece of "furniture" (the wood pieces used to lock in lead type in typesetting/printing). I frequently use toy and game parts in my work...perhaps as a metaphor for a childlike spirit, the light of which still flickers inside us as we go through our adult lives or perhaps because of the memories that they elicit.

Calliope was the goddess associated with poetry. It is also the name of a type of humming bird. I love both poetry and hummingbirds and was delighted to find this entry and engraving on a dictionary page connecting the two. A hummingbird sighting in my garden fills me with wonder.

This piece was made in response to an invitation by artist Chris Hewitt and Gallery 224 to create a piece about the Bachmann's Warbler, a bird that has not been seen since the late 1980s and is presumed extinct due to loss of migratory habitat. I researched the lost bird, listened to recordings of its song and felt a mourning for its loss. The text is from an Emily Dickinson poem that I know and love.